The Chamber
by Fallen Ark Angel
Summary: Nothing like ending your night in a trauma care center after a fellow wrestler misjudges a move and lands his knee into your throat. Yep. Nothing at all. - One-shot, following the first Elimination Chamber at Survivor Series 2002.


It was the first ever Elimination Chamber match.

That alone was enough to cause some pause. No one was too certain, really, what sorts of injury would spring up from it. That was why Vince made sure only his best of the best went in. The guys he knew that could pull it off.

Paul, of course, was one of those guys.

Steph, of course, really wished that he wasn't.

"I hate the Chamber," she grumbled to him more than once. Since finding out about it, she'd been against it. "I'm serious, Paul. I hate it."

"I know." He only chuckle at her and try to play it off like the thing didn't freak him out as well.

But hell if it didn't.

They were all a bit nervous. Shawn, Booker, RVD, and Kane all shared Paul's concerns. Hell, even Jericho muttered a few things, the first time they looked over the plans for the thing and saw just how serious it was.

Steel. There was a lot of steel. And chain. Serious chain. A forty minute match on its own was something of endurance, but to add all the variables they were to it…

He had to play it off for his woman though, of course. Stephanie was rather...easy to upset. Very easy. His quad injury wasn't very far removed and, well, she was more than a bit protective over him.

Which was annoying as hell and he forced her to keep bottled up until they were alone. It was hard enough on him, fucking the boss's daughter; adding in her inherent concern over his health was just a huge distraction from his talent.

When the night of the PPV rolled around, however, he kind of sort of wished someone had talked him out of it.

The chains didn't give. That was the first thing he and the other guys had mumbled when they first saw the Chamber all put together one day and got to look about it. Chris jumped up and down on the grate that would surround the ring, laughing uneasily along with Shawn about the sickening metallic clang it made.

Booker banged his hand on the plexiglass of one of the pods they'd wait for their turn in a few times as he and Rob examined it.

"Sickening, huh, Hunter?" Booker asked to which Paul only shrugged a bit, still more concerned with the chains.

"Hey, Glen," he called over to Kane, who was gently wrapping his knuckles against the metal siding of one of the pods. "C'mere and let me rake your face over this, huh? See if I can draw any blood."

Ever the friendly giant, the Big Red Monster only replied, "Sure. As soon as I get to choke slam ya into this grate, huh?"

"This is serious," one of the crew that had come in there with them reminded. "Not a game. You guys need to decide if you can work in this or not."

"I can work in anything," Chris said to which Shawn nodded the same.

And there was no way in hell any of the others would balk.

Not a chance.

Steph had her own shit to the deal with that night, she always did, as onscreen she was currently one of the General Managers and, off, she was typically busy learning all the goings on from Vince.

It was a never ending lesson, honestly, that Paul envied she got at times. He would never trade, of course, getting to go out in front of the audience and preform for anything, but Vince had told him once that if he had been unable to come back from his quad, or should it present him with problems later, there was always a place for him behind the scenes.

"Someone with some sense," he joked more than once in front of his kids, to get under the skin no doubt, "should be around in case something happens to me."

"Short of you taking up your proper place as the Anti-Christ during the rapture," Paul would quip right back, "I really don't see that ever happening."

Thinking about that chamber, however, as he prepped backstage, Paul sort of wished he was one of the pencil pushers that got to think up the horrific things for the wrestlers to go through rather than being forced to go through them.

He happened to pass Steph in one of the halls before he was scheduled to go out and she, of course, made him stop so that she could wish him luck.

"You gonna make out with that thing one last time?" Vince passed them and grumbled that as he did so. "Before it's ripped from you in an hour?"

"Didn't know your daughter was on the line, Vinny," Paul retorted though he knew, of course, the man was talking about the title belt Steph, at the moment, was holding for him as he adjusted his elbow pads one last time. "Might have to go ahead and pull a fast one on ya and retain then."

"You can retain your ass right out of my arena is what you can do."

But he was walking off anyways, Vince was, quickly heading to deal with something or other. Paul wasn't certain. Steph had things to do as well though and, holding the title out to him, she only said, "Stay safe, okay?"

"Always."

And they didn't kiss or anything because they tried really hard to separate that kind of stuff from work (okay, so not that hard, but whatever), but Paul did make her kiss the belt even though she always thought that was disgusting when superstars did that. Then, patting her on the head, he told her she better get back to her job.

"Before you get fired or somethin'," he added, headed the opposite way of her. "Ms. General Manager."

"I'll be watching," she offered, but then, when didn't she?

With a wave, she was off and he was going to get ready to enter with the title for (at the moment) the last time.

The thrill was always there, of course, no matter how many times he did it, walked out to the cheers (or boos) of the crowd, but on PPVs, it was just something different.

Especially not knowing what exactly he was getting himself into.

Paul had been involved in more than his fair share of crazy matches, but staring at that chamber…

He wondered if it was the same for the more maniacal guys on the roster. He'd been in a ladder match before, but in the past few years they'd begun doing Tag Team Ladder matches and, damn, those were some serious shit.

"Here's to not tearing a quad, huh?" Shawn joked to Paul before the match, even reaching down to gently tap a fist against the man's kneecap. "Eh, Hunter?"

"Yeah." And he reached over and patted his buddy on the back. "And here's to not getting paralyzed. Eh, Shawn?"

"A lot of talk coming from someone that's about to have that pretty little belt of theirs wrapped around my waist."

He tapped in him in the head that time, making a face. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?'

The nerves never rightly dissipated, of course, but as with most times, Paul was able to fall right into his character the second he needed to. There was just something to it, the adrenalin, the persona, the way his entire being felt so…

Vince McMahon could have ordered him to be tied to a post and cut open with a damn chainsaw and he'd fucking do it, if he asked while the man was still all pumped by the crowd.

Not to put any ideas into the head of the man whose daughter he was boning or anything…

Paul wouldn't be in a pod. He and RVD were starting the match together. After the initial grappling, Dam controlled the start of the match. They were hardly even into the match yet when, after a running counter, Paul tried to put Rob into a pedigree only for it too to be countered. The unfortunate part was, however, that they were by the ropes and, when Rob tossed him over his back, Paul landed directly on the metal grate that surrounded the ring.

And damn! The metal had a bite to it. Not nearly the worst thing he'd felt in the world, but certainly one way to force yourself into staying alert in a nearly hour long match.

Rob gave him a second too, to gather himself after that (a legit second), before exiting the robs and coming to stomp on him a bit. And then, finally, Paul got to find out just how little those chains really gave.

They didn't. At all.

Pretending to be dazed, Paul took a step away from the chains encompassing the chamber only for Rob to toss him up against the ropes and run him right back into them.

It felt even worse, that second time.

And the third.

That fourth one was with such force that the wall of the chamber actually popped open, but pretending less and actually being more, Paul pretended to be dazed and fell back from it as the refs that stood outside locked it back up.

Paul needed a few seconds that time, down there on the ground, and Van Dam took those to do his taunt over him. Quickly, however, as Paul was trying to get to his feet, Rob was back to destroying him again. In the chamber, the ring wasn't elevated at all, it was ground level, so even from outside of it Rob was able to back Paul up against the turnbuckle that was beside Shawn's pod, landing some blows against him then.

Rob muttered it to him before he did it, of course, but when Paul was thrown once more back down to the metal grate...damn, you couldn't prepare your body for that.

You just couldn't.

Maybe he wasn't strong enough to let Vince cut him open with a chainsaw…

Which was probably a good thing, actually.

Paul bladed, to slice open his forehead about the same time that Rob rolled back into the ring. Not for long, of course, as it was only so that he could springboard right back out of it, splashing onto Paul.

Rob would be the first eliminated. He had to get all his moves and use his time out there well. Paul knew that. But still…

He rolled around too, sold it real good, howling in unimaginable pain. Paul was real into the showmanship of the sport. The acting. It was better than having to eat the pain without any emotion shown at all.

They were both up again before long. Err, well, Rob was, as he bounced back from the splash, and drug Paul to his feet as well. Falling back against the ropes, the adrenaline was starting to fade as Rob knocked him right back into the ring, tumbling in as well.

A quick body slam followed this before Paul was left there, in the middle of the ring, while Rob was rushing off. He watched him, out of the corner of his eyes, as the other man scaled the chamber wall next to Jericho's pod. The top of the pods were chain too, of course, and Jericho wasn't going to let this go without intervening.

He grabbed Rob's foot, dragging it through the mesh chains. Paul laid there, watching, prepping, because he knew what Rob was going to do next. He'd mumbled it to him and knew that it had to happen eventually; the sooner the better. And if any of the guys were going to take it, Paul was the guy.

Rob was going to preform a Five Star Frog Splash off the top of the pods.

But Jericho fucked it up.

He managed to pull Rob's leg down into the pod with him and wasn't letting go. At that point, Chris couldn't very well just willingly let him go but at the same time Rob seemed unable to free himself as he couldn't get to the man, so Paul had to bounce up to untangle them.

Jumping up on the turnbuckle, Paul reached up there to drag Rob down, but that didn't go well. Rob's hands were free, of course, and he knocked Paul right back down.

He fell sideways, onto the grate again, but his body was so beaten up already that it was kind of a moot point.

Rob got away from Chris then though, but had to fall off the pod a bit to do so. From the turnbuckle then, when Paul got up, he flew into the man, causing them both to tumble down.

Paul's feet wound up somehow resting up against the chain and Rob only laid there next to him. Neither withered that time. The pain they could take; they needed a moment to catch their breaths.

Nothing entered Paul's mind when he was wrestling other than, well, wrestling. He didn't think about his family or life or Steph or any of that. Just how the match was going. And, for the start of a forty minute match, he had to say that it was pretty intense.

He got slammed once more, Paul did, against those chains, and they didn't get any better, they would never get any better, but now that he knew what to expect from everything in the Chamber, he was feeling a bit better.

Rob controlled him for the entirety of their time alone out there. As the ten seconds whittled down, Paul found himself fallen on his butt, up against a turnbuckle, being 'kicked' in the face as well as having a boot pressed to his throat.

Compared to the other shit, he considered that a breather.

There was still a boot to his throat too, when Jericho was released. That gave him a break for a bit then as Rob and he tussled about. Rob was in control from the start of that too, tossing Chris around much the same as he had Paul.

One counter though and Y2J had everything under his dominion. Which was about the time that Paul stumbled to his feet, using the ropes for help, to get back into the fray.

He walked around the ring a bit, Paul did, as if out of it. He watched Jericho deliver a few blows to Rob, but just as he was getting ready to land one on the high flyer as well, Rob avoided the strike and slapped at Paul's chest.

Responding to that, Paul went into dazed mode as Jericho received a slap from the man as well. He was taking them both on. He became more interested, however, in landing punches to Paul's head, backing him into the ropes. When he tried to Irish whip him into the opposite ones, however, Paul countered and threw the man from him.

Rob dodged the first attempt at a strike as he went zooming by him. On the reverse though, after bouncing into the ropes and coming running once more, Paul got him with with a boot. With the man down, Jericho jumped on Rob as well, dropping his butt on him glancingly.

He sold it all, of course, RVD did, kicking his feet in an attempt to fight off the pain.

They teamed up then, Paul and Chris did, if only for the moment. After dragging him up by his ponytail, Jericho moved to pin his arms behind his back and allow Paul some cheap blows. Some justice was restored as, eventually, after Jericho taunted a bit from the turnbuckle, Paul tossed Rob out of the ring so that they could, together, slam the man's back into those damn chains.

Finally. Someone else got a taste of the bitterness.

It took a few times too before they tired of it. Every time he go away, they'd bring him back, each taking an arm before tossing more up against the steel bar that connected the chains than the chains themselves.

The match felt surreal in some ways. Paul, in certain moments, thought that it had been going on far too long for only Jericho to have been released from his pod, but at the same time, it seemed as if nothing at all had passed.

One tag move too many, however, once they got Rob back in the ring did them in. Jericho had whipped him into a turnbuckle and Paul only moved to whip Jericho right into him. Rob must have dome some sort of acrobatic reversal or something, Paul wasn't sure, his back was turned, but the crowd more than keyed him in that it had been some spectacular.

Rob knocked Paul down, when he turned to assist Jericho, and delivered a dropkick to the other man when he moved to do the same. Then there were three of them, lying on the ground, gasping for breath.

Damn, he couldn't wait to get backstage and rewatch the match. They weren't halfway through and Paul already knew it had to have been a beaut to watch.

All three staggering to get to their feet first, Paul used the fact that RVD was focused in on getting Jericho back down that he was able to deliver a sick DDT to the man just as the clock was ticking away for the next opponent to enter.

Punishing Rob's head with a few 'punches', Paul heard the crowd erupt as Booker exploded onto the scene. He capitalized, of course, on being the freshest contestant and bounced around the ring, knocking them all down one by one as they tried to approach him.

His fury of roundhouses and punches ended with him being the only one left in the ring and the other three finding their breaths on the metal grates outside of it. Taunting came into play then, of course, as the other three took their moments to gather themselves once more.

RVD was the first up and he and Booker had a good stare down going, in the ring, words exchanging between the former ECW fighters. Then came the trading of blows.

Body out of the ring and head in it, Paul watched through the blood dripping down into his eyes and tangles of hair as the two men bounced around, trying to find an opening for himself.

Pins and counters had become the currency, both Booker and Rob trading them between roundhouses and slaps, when Paul finally shoved up to get back into things. Grabbing Booker T as he got to his feet, Paul tried to Irish whip him into the ropes, hoping to be able to deliver a move, but it was countered as Booker dodged before giving the man a boot to the gut.

Paul leaned over, of course, in agony, which left him open for a scissor kick after Booker went to bounce off the ropes again.

It was a good thing he wasn't retaining that night because, for a champ, Triple H sure was getting his ass handed to him.

Not that being the first in the ring helped, of course.

As Paul sold the move by falling to the ground and rolling around, Jericho attempted to use Booker's turned back to his advantage and bum rushed him. Not that it was much use as, while he was tossing the other man from the ring, Rob popped up and ran to do the same to Chris.

Alone then in the ring as the other two rolled around out there on the grate, Paul watched from his back as RVD walked with purpose over to a turnbuckle.

But oh, no, that wasn't the plan. With all those pods, there was no way that _someone_ wasn't getting splashed off one.

Rob pretended, at first, to have no idea that that was, well, a pretty good one. He glanced over his shoulder from the turnbuckle, up at the pod before grinning, Paul was sure, deviously and moving to clamber up there instead.

He hung out up there, for a moment, to give the audience a chance to catch up with his plan and, of course, JR and King sometime to drool over the concept.

It was weird, really, thinking back on it. Paul could remember lying there, waiting for it, watching for it, but didn't remember Rob actually doing it. Actually flying through the air. He'd gone back and watched it (though Steph told him that was stupid and not to; it was traumatic enough for her once), saw Rob taunt from up there and stare deviously down at him, but still, Paul couldn't' remember watching him fly through the air, doing his Five Star Frog Splash.

All he could remember was his knee making contact with his throat and immediately knowing that he couldn't breathe.

He couldn't fucking breathe.

Panic crept in instantly as he rolled off his back, hand grasping at his throat and feet thrashing in excruciation. He couldn't breathe. His neck was...what…

Rob was rolling around too, holding onto his knee to take some of the attention off Paul as the ref bent down and tried to speak with him. But Paul couldn't speak and, as he tried hard to force air through his trachea, knew he had to calm the fuck down. And quickly. They were locked in that damn cage, on television, in front of a live audience; short of him dying in the damn ring, Vince wasn't calling that match.

Paul wasn't going to let him fucking call it either.

The best that could be done for him, honestly, was letting someone pin him. And, as the match progressed around him, Booker getting a missile dropkick from the turnbuckle on Rob, Paul knew he didn't want to do that either. He just had to find a damn way to breathe.

It wasn't easy.

His throat felt like it was constricted or something. Rolling onto his back, he stared miserably up at the top of the chamber, trying to calm himself down. As he curled up on his side, he knew that panicking was the fastest way to pass out from lack of oxygen. If he just concentrated, very hard, he could get a bit of his air in and out.

The pain wasn't very manageable, but then either had been his quad tear. He'd just have to push the fuck through it.

The climax had to be him and Shawn. He was the champ and he had to lose to the new one.

There was just no two ways about it.

After pinning Rob, Booker immediately moved over to Paul. He'd seen the X symbol, of course, and could tell the man was off, so he only crawled across the ring to the other man, hardly leaning over him at all for the pin as well as gently tugging up his leg.

It was Paul's out. Chris and Booker would still be left in the ring and could keep things at bay until Kane entered. A minute, at most until that.

The ref was rolling Rob out and missed it, but only for a moment. Turning back to them, he rushed to drop to the mat and hit a fast three count.

Only, they were so close to the ropes, that Paul didn't even think about it as he lifted his leg up to rest it on one.

He finished his matches.

Always.

Booker seemed surprised, when the count didn't make it to three, but Jericho had been out of action long enough and quickly took his attention. This gave Paul more time to gather himself, rolling under the ropes and focusing on his breathing, getting it down. He was going to be needed soon.

It would be a lie to say a big part of himself didn't regret that decision. Not letting Booker get him out of there. Rolling around on the metal grate, he tried to rub at his throat, but it brought no comfort. Rob's knee had dome some serious damage and the swelling was only going to get worse as time went on.

Gasps were all that he was getting in and out. It felt like he was suffocating. And what more fitting way to die than in that fucking cell that he really hadn't liked the idea of in the first place.

The countdown for Kane started as Booker was in the middle of an (unsuccessful) attempt at pinning Chris. He came in like the powerhouse he was, of course, Glen did, knocking the others around as he breathed noisily through that mask of his.

Not that Paul paid them much mind. He had to get to his feet and soon. Prove that he could. That he had a right to stay in the match.

Kane was having his way with Jericho, even lifting him over his head and tossing him face first into the chain links, while Paul was finding his footing. He had to use the turnbuckle and even then he was slumped a bit and not finding air easily, but he was doing it. He was up. That was half of the battle.

Jericho ended up through the bulletproof glass before Kane was done with him, of one of the pods. And as he laid in a heap from that, the man turned his attention to the place where everyone (including the cameras) had been trying to avoid; Paul.

He had to toss his neck back, to sell the blows. He wasn't sure if he could do it, but somehow, his body just went into autopilot and it got done. And, after the last one, Paul took a few steps from the turnbuckle, finally finding his feet, before falling flat on his face once more on the ring.

One step forward, two steps back.

Focus shifting, Kane and Booker went at it for a moment, resulting, eventually, in a choke slam from the man. As Kane was depositing the other man practically through the mat though, Paul managed to get through his feet once more.

And Kane hit a blow to his head that knocked him right back down.

Crawling away then, Paul knew that Glen was following him and was prepping for whatever he was going to get outside the ring.

Those damn chains were his friend then as Paul used them to back up against, pulling himself up before bracing for Kane.

He slid back down to his knees, when Kane hit him. Behind the man, Paul could see Jericho pin Booker and, then, eliminate him. That took Kane off him, of course, as the man immediately went to go pick on Chris some.

Kane was in charge of that as well while Jericho only attempted to run up the chain wall. Paul watched them from afar, finally finding that epinephrine feeding back into him. They were so close to the end of the match. Shawn would enter soon enough and then it would be over. He just had to...get to...his feet...again…

History repeated itself as, after tossing Chris to the ground, Kane had his back turned on Paul. The man was inching along, using the ropes to pull himself and, thinking that he at least needed to look like he was in the match, reached out to grab at Glen.

But he backhanded him though, sending Paul falling back, onto the metal grate outside the ring.

Deep breaths weren't easy, but he tried to draw some as he used the ropes to, once more, get to his feet. Kane was still messing with Chris, but some distance had come between the two by the time Paul made it over to the turnbuckle. Clambering up it, he knew that Jericho was too far away for him to do much with, but Kane was right there.

Paul didn't have the strength for a move on his own though and Glen obliged, tossing him over his head and onto his back, inside the ring once more, where Paul only rolled around a bit, trying to keep the rhythm he had going in check.

The countdown was starting again, the crowd chanting backwards from ten. Finally. Shawn's turn.

The man came in just as loose and wild as the others before him had. Paul was bent over for his first minute or so in the ring, but could hear him knocking around Jericho and Kane much the same as the two had done their opponents upon their entry.

Kane was back in control, by the time Paul managed to glance over at them. He'd bombed Jericho or something, as the man laid on flayed out in the ring while, at the exact moment, he was giving Shawn a choke slam.

Alright. Paul had to get to his feet.

Again.

And, as much as his body was crying out for him not to, that it might just end him, he had to do it; he had to get choked slammed.

Jericho always told him that the weakest Walls he ever handed out was that night, not too long ago, when after tearing his quad, Paul still had him go along with the finisher on the table direction. He had a feeling too that Glen would tell him that it was the weakest grip he'd ever had around someone's neck as well.

Not that it mattered. It was excruciating and Paul hated himself for what he did to his body. He clearly hated his body too, given what he was willing to do to himself.

As he laid there though, writing in suffering, his mind was still able to recall what was next. What was coming.

It was time for them all to take out Kane.

But not before he choke slammed poor Jericho after the man jumped off the turnbuckle.

The sequence had to start with Paul, he knew that, as he struggled to his feet. The third and final choke slam was his cue, after all, and the sooner he got it over with the better.

Kane picked him up, when Paul was close enough, as if to go for a body slam. But Paul countered it, wiggling out of his grasp and landing behind him. The timing was perfect (Vince expected nothing less) as Paul shoved Glen right into the by then standing Shawn Michaels' awaiting boot.

For a moment, they all lay still as they all collapsed, Kane from the finisher, Shawn because he was supposed to be exhausted form giving it, and Paul because, hell, he was exhausted. Even without his injury, the match was going to be hell for him.

"You're one of my only guys I'd ever have out there for an hour and trust you'd still delver quality product," Vince had told him a few days ago, when going over the match. He even did that rare thing where he clapped him on the shoulder and Paul felt twelve again, showing off to his own father. "Don't worry about it; you can pull it off."

And right then, as Kane sat bolt right up, it was time for Paul to do just that.

Shoving to his own feet, Kane walked right into his pedigree with such ease that Paul shouldn't have been as prideful about getting it done as he did.

He fell immediately back to his knees, of course, but he'd hit his mark; that was all that mattered.

Chris hit his too, for what it was worth, landing a textbook lionsault on Kane before pinning him. Paul's neck was killing him, but he managed to turn his head a bit to stare over as the ref counted the big lug out.

Shawn and Jericho took it outside the ring, after Kane was rolled out, Shawn tossing Jericho around a bit. It was eventually countered though and, after writing around a bit, Paul got up to land some blows on the dazed Michaels.

It took a lot out of him. Every punch he dealt was exhumation which required, obviously, oxygen. He had very precious little amounts of that.

At one point, when he tossed his head back to get his hair out of his face, he honestly thought he was about to pass out. Somehow he managed to hang on, but not by much.

Stumbling around and gathering himself, Paul watched as Jericho took over the beating of Shawn before, eventually, dragging him over the ropes. He had him binded in there when Paul came over, still not all there, but knowing with just three people in the ring, he had to be more involved.

They beat on Shawn together, Paul giving some heavy punches to him as he was held to the ropes by Chris. Just as quickly though, Chris had released him to take a running jump and the man and Shawn was falling to the ground.

Breathe. Paul had to keep telling himself that. Breathe. It would be over soon. There were just three left. Breathe.

The two of them were relentless on Shawn and, eventually, Paul was able to toss him from the ring onto the metal grate awaiting his backside out there. He was starting to feel it then, Paul was the, the crowd, the jitters. His neck was still most certainly screwed to hell and he couldn't breath right, but he was able to walk around then and, finally, be the first to rake someone's face up against those damn metal chains.

Namely Shawn's.

Shot after shot was given out by Jericho and Paul after that as Shawn, collapsed to his knees, ate as many as believably possible before tumbling down to the ground.

He took some time then, Paul did, to walk around and let Jericho deal with Shawn. He tossed him in the ring, he tossed him out of the ring, he tossed him against the chains only to get thrown into them himself; Paul was only half paying attention. He gasped to the ref for the time when no one was looking and was equal parts shocked it hadn't been at least five hours since the start and amazed that so much time had past.

They were in the stretch then. He just had to keep pushing.

Going over to the two of them, Shawn's attention was taken off Jericho for a moment and, after glancing the other wrestler up and down, he moved to toss a punch towards Paul.

He fell back against the ropes.

And another.

His head was tossed back.

The next time Shawn just reared back and clothes lined him, right over the ropes and back into the ring.

Paul was surviving, but he was also certain he was having his worst match to date, action wise.

Jericho about got pile driven into the metal grate. Paul caught that, as he was also catching what little breath he had. He countered, of course, and flung Michaels off him. Shawn recoiled for a moment in pain before lackadaisically climbing through the ropes and into the ring.

Shoving up, Paul was ready for him as he struggled to his feet, repeating his mantra of breathe, breathe, breathe, over and over again. When he reached Shawn, he hauled the guy to his feet so that he could land some punches to the other man's head. Only a few as, just as quickly he was Irish whipping him into the ropes. In return for this, he got a dodge of an attack from Shawn before a flying forearm smash to the face.

They both fell in a heap.

Paul was still lying there though when Michaels bounced right back to his feet in that way only he could pull off. Struggling to find his own strength, Paul saw Jericho run up from behind with a bulldog to Shawn. It was only the setup, however, to the lionsault, which he landed just as well as he had the last.

He went for the pin then, but of course it didn't work. Shawn kicked out at two. Once. Twice. Now Jericho feigned annoyance, jumping up and dragging Shawn with him. He knocked him back into one of the turnbuckles, griping loudly at the ref the whole way.

When he went to whip him to the other turnbuckle though and run across to attack him, Chris was met with a cowboy boot to the face, which stunned him long enough for Shawn to preform a moonsault into a cover and…

Kick out at two.

Paul was stuck in hell for a bit longer.

Then, for the unforgivable, Shawn turned Jericho over into the man's own submission; The Walls of Jericho.

That was a cue. Paul met it too as he forced himself back up to go break the two of them up. With a boot to the gut, he got Shawn off Jericho and into a DDT that he somehow just managed to pull off.

Jericho went for the pin then, as Shawn laid there, but Paul had to get to his feet once more and pull him off. Which, of course, was done to infuriate Jericho and get them to turn on one another a bit. Paul grasped out some harsh words for the man, in case the mic picked anything up, before the shoving match between the two began.

Not before Chris slapped him though, oh so close to his crushed neck.

His body was in such shock that he wasn't even sure he felt it.

It quickly devolved into trading blows, though Jericho was the victor in this. Not for long, of course, as Paul quickly moved to grab his arm and whip him away. On the return, Chris got a forearm to the clavicle.

And, when he bounced right back up, he was rewarded with a face buster.

Near fall. Jericho was done yet, of course, as he'd yet to get 'finished' as it were. And when they both got up, Paul backed him into a corner to punch him some more. It was when whipping him to the other turnbuckle that Jericho caught himself. Jumping up to the second one, he moved as if to jump backwards at Paul, but he caught him with a boot for it.

And just like that, he was in for the pedigree.

But that would just be too easy.

And Vince _hated_ easy.

Jericho countered and damn, his throat felt like it was getting smaller and smaller. Paul didn't know, way back at the start how long he could last without getting medical help, but it was becoming increasingly clear not much longer.

The Walls of Jericho were on him then because, honestly, was it a Triple H injury without them?

He had to crawl, for the ropes, Paul did, as Michaels got to his feet behind them.

Gasping for air didn't describe his feelings when, finally, after Jericho drug them back to the middle of the ring, he received Sweet Chin Music from Shawn as well as a pin.

And down went Jericho.

It was down to them then. Paul and Shawn. He just had to hold on for a little bit longer. That was all.

After crawling around a bit, it was time for everyone's favorite standing and punching one another until one fell down.

Paul about died, honestly, from all that he was having to do, but with the light at the end of the tunnel shining so brightly, it would be a shame to not give the match its true ending then.

A spine buster came, finally, when Shawn bounced into the ropes. And a pin. But nope, it wasn't meant to be.

He got running kick to the chin, when they both got to their feet, but Paul only stumbled around a bit before catching Michaels, when he came at him, and tossing him out of the ring, the man landed right on that metal grate that started it all for Paul.

Oh, if he could go back, he wouldn't complain about that thing one bit.

Breaths coming out in pants, Paul managed to gather himself again and leave the ring. When he reached to pull Shawn up though and slam him into the metal chains, the other man countered and did the same to him instead.

Paul would still gripe about those. Throat injury or not. Those were the pits.

Shawn attempted to add insult to injury once more, against the entire persona that was Triple H, as he forced the man up and moved to put him in the pedigree position.

Damn. Paul couldn't breath for shit with his head facing downwards like that. He'd never countered so emphatically in his life.

Breaking the hold, he moved to grab Shawn's legs and, after some deep breaths (that drug in, it felt like, no air at all), Paul fell back, catapulting Shawn right through the plexiglass, breaking it in half.

They both needed a moment after that. Shawn wasn't so far removed from his return and, well, it was quite a match to get reacquainted with. But Paul had to get up. The time was then. They were ready.

He could end it.

Going into the pod he'd tossed Shawn in, Paul went to drag him up by his hair and force him into the ring once more for a pin.

It wasn't enough, of course, and he had to play frustrated as he only began a some heavy punches to the man.

Eventually Shawn found himself and they were trading them again, in the middle fo the ring. It didn't take long for Michaels to take control, but when he went to Irish whip Paul, he only got a face buster as a thank you.

Then came the clothes line over the ropes.

He wasted no time either, Paul didn't, as he swiftly put Shawn into the pedigree position. The ref pretended to protest and, as Paul was waving him off, Shawn was able to counter. It was Paul's turn to be catapulted and, of course, it was into those damn chains.

He might have hated them more than he did the damn Five Star.

His fingers caught the chains as he tumbled back down to the ground and Paul knew they were so close. So very close. Just breathe. Stay calm. And just breath.

A clothes line from Shawn sent him back into the ring and, as he watched, Michaels headed up to the top turn buckle before up to the top of one of the pods. Paul couldn't breath to begin with, but his breath completely left him and, with a leap, Shawn delivered an elbow to Paul's chest.

It could have been over, but it wasn't just yet. There was one thing left to do and, even though he was on the edge of unconsciousness, Paul complied as best he could to Shawn's stomps on the ground as he made his way to the turnbuckle.

Everyone in the audience erupted too when, after staggering to his feet, Triple H was all set up to receive Sweet Chin Music...only to catch the boot coming at him, toss it away, and deli ever his own finisher to his former partner.

Though at the moment he was in pure misery, Paul would look back at that and be damn impressed with himself.

Crawling over to Shawn was tough, but managing to toss an arm over him was tougher. The worst of all came when, unfortunately, just as planned, the ref got to two and the man's shoulders popped right up.

Paul had to get up and argue with the ref over this, giving Shawn time to get to his feet as well. They were both standing once more and there was only one way to fix that.

And that time, the pedigree, of course, was countered. After Michaels threw Paul over his back, the man ran to the opposite turnbuckle. Not a moment passed before, as Paul staggered to his feet, Shawn was finally able to connect his finisher to the champ.

Breathe.

One.

Breathe.

Two.

Breathe.

Three.

Breathe. Just keep breathing. Ignoring the damn confetti and the crowd and the fact that his throat felt completely closed off.

He just had to breathe. And wait. Play it off.

Crawling over to a turnbuckle, he listened to Sexy Boy play throughout the arena and the crowd cheer while just waiting. With Shawn up on a turnbuckle, showing off his title, Paul was able to crawl away, out of most the line of sight of the camera and to the opening in the Chamber.

They were trying to ask him things too, as some of the refs helped him out. He managed to get out a no, when asked if he needed a stretcher, because he could fucking walk, just not breathe, but saying much else was too much.

Backstage was more than a bit hectic. With so many unknowns from the cage (plus the tables match earlier in the evening), there was even more medics backstage than usual. They were all prepped to check him out, but honestly, there wasn't anything any of them could do for him; he needed a hospital.

But they were trying to ask him questions and he was coming down off the high of needing to finish the match and he just…

He couldn't breathe. At all by that point. He felt winded, from the match, and hated not being able to at least wash off some, he felt so disgusting, but he really wasn't sure what was wrong. Rob had certainly crushed something in his neck.

"It might be your trachea or your larynx or maybe even your voice box," one of the medics told him as he rode int eh back of an ambulance (Vince refused to just let him have someone fucking drive him there). "A heavy impact on the throat from that distance… You're lucky to even be breathing right now."

Hardly. Breathing, that is.

"Wrist," he told them, not for the first time. He was holding it awkwardly to his chest. "Broke it."

But they weren't sure about that and, honestly, neither was he. He just knew that it hurt like a bitch. All of his body, of course, hurt now that it was no longer being amped up by the crowd and arena, but his wrist was fucking killing him.

It didn't help either that Steph rode with him down there. Err, well, it probably did help, in some ways, but was a definite detriment in others.

She didn't cry, he'd give her that (the woman cried at everything), but her eyes were teary and she kept string over at him as if he were just going to up and vanish into thin air and…

Sigh.

It was a hell of a night.

And it was only just beginning.

His body was drained, when he got to the hospital, of fluids. He was dehydrated, which was a problem in itself that wasn't easily solved. They didn't want him drinking anything, considering they weren't completely certain just what was wrong with his throat and if anything was torn open, which left him with one option to get fluids back in there.

An IV.

Ugh.

Steph called his mother and father for him, given that talking was too hard, on a payphone in the hospital. He really hoped that she didn't, like, make things worse and get all dramatic with them or something; the last thing he wanted was for them to think that he needed them there.

He didn't.

He was fine.

Honest.

It was embarrassing too, really, as he sat on that cot behind some curtains, IV sticking out of one arm, still in his wrestling gear. His elbow and knee pads were filled with sweat, his speedo and jockstrap were uncomfortable, and then there was all that damn confetti, stuck to his back.

Paul hadn't felt so uncomfortable since his quad tear.

Steph sat by him, the whole damn nigh, holding his hand. She left at times to go call Vince or his parents, to update them (there really weren't any updates, but she figured they'd at least want to know he hadn't taken a turn for the worst; plus she needed some people to vent all of her fears to), but never for long. He couldn't talk, his throat was in such pain and the swelling was still there, but Steph never really needed his responses to hold a conversation.

She talked a lot about what had gone on, backstage, when it was very clear that he was hurt. And the rest of the night too came up, the other matches and things, considering they were stuck together for so many hours.

Well, not stuck. He managed to get out to her more than once that, if she were tired, she could just go back to the hotel; he was fine, he knew she cared about him.

No way in hell was that happening though.

She got less weepy, the longer they were there, but he figured that was mostly because she was getting sleepy instead. He was too, in many ways, but sleeping wasn't really something he could afford to do at the moment, given the swelling.

Steph, however, didn't have this holding her back. And, when she leaned forwards in the chair next to his cot, resting her head against it, Paul listened to her mumble a few more things to him before drifting off.

It was for the better.

Her talking was actually starting to fucking annoy him…

Paul had been in hospitals before, a lot actually, and knew that they never really died at night. There was always something going on. It was actually a bit more relaxing (though that word was perhaps too strong a choice), to listen to all the goings on. To realize that there was far more important shit than his damn neck happening.

Steph brought him more comfort then, as she snoozed, slumped over with her head resting on the edge of his caught. She always thought that talking him through things helped and, fine, it distracted him, but just being close to her most of the time was nice. Still focused wholly on his breathing, her hair felt nice when he reached over to run his fingers through the strands tenderly, not wishing to wake her back up.

Eventually, of course, it did.

But she only laid there, head tilted to the side then, watching him. And he wasn't looking at her, but could feel her eyes, and, though he didn't grin or anything of the sort, he did still his hand for a moment from where it was toying with her hair.

"I love you," she told him for, oh, the billionth time before she first started worrying that he was killing himself out there in that ring

It felt like forever before he was finally hydrated.

The tests that they wanted to do afterward weren't too great either. There was a camera that got shoved down his throat, to investigate just what was causing the swelling. That was the worst of the tests, but there were others, as they made him swallow things and other shit that was just annoying.

Shouldn't there just be a shot that they could give him? That would make the swelling go away?

Paul didn't mention his wrist. Not that day. It still didn't feel right, but there was no way that he was going to go through x-rays on it and get stuck there even longer.

No way.

He was lucky, honestly, that Stephanie seemed to be so panicked before that she forgot he ever mentioned it. The medic, too, that he'd told had neglected to tell anyone and, since no one asked, he decided not to bring it up.

If he ever got out of there, he'd bring it up later.

Evening faded into early morning which faded into noon and, eventually, Paul was finally able to leave the place a few hours later.

Vince was the first person that Paul talked to, on the phone, when they got back to the hotel.

Err, well, Vince was on the speaker phone, at least, and Steph spoke back and forth for them as Paul's voice still wasn't all there. The two idiots honestly expected her to help them discuss if he could, at the very least, still make the India trip at the end of the week.

"Ten days," Stephanie carped when Paul agreed with Vince that, perhaps, he would be able to at least fly down there, "is what the doctor said. At least. Is Friday in ten days? No. So-"

"I'm talking to Paul, Steph," Vince grumbled before, in a louder voice, adding, "and if you're not up for it, Paul-"

"I'll be up for it," was what he said back. Vince, however, couldn't make out his words through the phone.

"What did he say? Stephanie?"

"That he's not coming and you're both morons."

"Stephanie-"

"He's not." And she was standing over where the phone was, in the hotel room, on the nightstand while Paul sat on the end of the bed. Their eyes found one another's and he could see that she was about to finally have that crying fit she'd been holding off. "His throat could swell at any time. He's going back home to New Hampshire and he'll talk to you in ten days. Not before."

"You," Paul's hoarse voice came out as he continued to stare over at her, "don't get to decide that."

"What did he say?" Vince was growing more and more annoyed by the minute. "Paul? What-"

"I'm your girlfriend," Stephanie said, speaking right over her father. "I do get to decide that. You're not going. This isn't a joke, Paul. You could have died. You still can die! We don't know if the swelling will come back or not. It's not worth it to go do some damn house show in India. It's just not. So no, Dad, he's not going anywhere. Other than home, if he feels up for it. But definitely not to damn India."

Oh, but he was.

Not that night. It was Monday and RAW was still in town and the taping of Smackdown wouldn't be very far away the next day. So he rested up, in the hotel room, and let Steph believe that he honestly was heeding her words.

But he didn't.

She was pissed too. At him, at Vince, at the world in general. The flight out there, she wouldn't talk to him.

Which, actually, was welcomed a lot, but not when she was ignoring him. The silent treatment was much different than just not having to hear her talk.

They flew out there on Thursday, with the intention of holding a performance on Friday. Even Vince was a bit worried about Paul though and didn't let him wrestle that day. He went out there with Flair and got into it with some guys, but no punches were thrown.

At Saturday's show, however, he did get into a legit fight. And his body wasn't feeling too great, but his body rarely felt too great.

Steph left too, after that night, to fly back to New York for a live event that the Smackdown crew was doing there while RAW was overseas (she remarked that if he'd just stuck with 'the devil he knew', he could have gone with her; haha). She made him promise her a bunch of shit though, about how he wasn't going to push himself and that if anything happened, anything at all, someone was to call her.

It was annoying, at times, having someone fret over him, but it also made him feel...well...loved or whatever stupid thing like that. Stephanie was so concerned with him. More so than herself.

Basically, she felt the way about him that he did the business. And her too, sure, but she rarely was at risk the way that he and business were.

"And I'll cal your mom too, for you, when I land," she added as, obviously, if there wasn't a need for a long distance call, why make one. "But only if you swear that if your throat-"

"I feel like I can't breathe, Steph, I'll make sure that I get some attention. Alright?"

No. She wouldn't be alright for, at least, another week when he was completely in the clear and she was able to finally expel that dread she felt for her boyfriend constantly from her body.

Vince though, now he was damn pleased with his daughter's boyfriend. There was nothing he valued above perseverance.

Well, maybe bulging muscles, but that was kind of obvious.

"Couldn't imagine it," Vince told him one day backstage when, finally, the two found themselves alone in the man's makeshift office. "Feeling your throat close around you and still not leaving the damn match. Especially one like that. It could have gone on without you and no one would have know."

"Not all of us are just gloss, Vince," he told him with a grin at the man. "Some of us are real performers."

Vince was standing, in front of the desk, with Paul, and clapped him roughly on the shoulder for that with a hearty laugh. "And to think; you rolling around like a pansy in the side of the ring didn't hardly effect the match at all. Still ravely reviewed."

"What don't you think is ravely reviewed?" Then, figuring the man was so impressed with him that he could get away with the jab, Paul said, "Other than the XFL-"

"That just needed more time!"

"You lost millions."

"It takes time to build a new sports empire."

"Right, so you even think that deserved rave reviews. Good to know."

Vince only narrowed his eyes then. "Why did I call you in here again?"

"To shower me with praises, I think."

That got a snort. "Yeah, I doubt it."

Still though, after a moment passed, Vince did tell him, "That time when that glass didn't break for Shane-"

"King of the Ring." Paul remembered it. "In 2001."

Nodding, Vince said, "I thought… Watching it from the gorilla position, I honestly thought I was killing my son. And then, watching you roll around, grasping at your neck-"

"I'm not Shane, Vince." And he meant that on a few different levels. Keeping his eyes on his boss, he said, "I can take care of myself."

"Well fuck if I don't know it," he said, tone losing some of its emotion then and going back to the man's gruff way of speaking. "It just looked...horrific, watching you, out there and-"

"I felt horrific," Paul agreed with a nod. "But that's our damn sport, ain't it?"

"My daughter cares a lot about you."

"I care a lot about your daughter."

And I don't...ever want to watch someone die in a ring again. In one of my rings again." He looked off, when he said that before adding, "Especially not you."

That night wasn't spoken up, ever, really, anymore, and made Paul frown before shaking his head.

"It wasn't that serious," he told him. "I could breath. I just had to focus on it, was all. Don't… It wasn't anything like that. I-"

"I got other shit to do before the show, other than bust your chops, you know." Vince didn't hit his shoulder as forcefully that time, resting his hand against it instead as he said, "Just be careful, huh?"

"Always."

"'cause if you do somehow ever get seriously injured," he grumbled as Paul turned to leave and Vince went to take a seat back at his desk, "I'm sure Stephanie will find a way to blame me."

"Well, you did clearly weaken my quad."

"And asked Rob to land on your neck. Obviously."

"She'd be dumb to think that anyways," Paul offered. "You'd never risk losing views by not having the biggest drawl in the history of the show on, just because he's fucking your daughter."

"I'd gladly take Dwayne with Stephanie, actually, and bring him into the actual family."

Snorting, the man glanced over his shoulder at Vince, but found the man already busy in his paperwork and clearly no longer feeling the need to have a nice moment together.

It was for the better anyways. He always creeped Paul out when he lost his maniac persona.

The arena was still being prepped and everyone was rushing around, getting things done before the show started, but Paul only set out to do one thing.

"Knock it off." And Steph wasn't happy with the one thing. Hissing at him as she shoved him away after he tried to kiss her cheek, she said, "We're at work."

Which still meant something.

Back then.

She had been coming out of some room when he he did this and, falling back against the door to escape him, Stephanie only glared up at the wrestler. He was grinning though.

"Just wanted to tell you somethin', Steph. That's all."

"And you were going to get the message to me through your lips?"

"That's how talking works, yes, babe."

'That's not what I-"

"I just wanted you to know," he said as, reaching a hand out, he found that she, at the very least, let him rest it against her cheek, "that you don't gotta worry so much about me. Alright? I'm fine out there, you know."

A few weeks had passed, actually, by that point, since the Chamber, and with a slight nod, Steph muttered out, "Okay," as she wasn't too sure what had spurred this on. Then he did kiss her head and she let him, still a bit stunned by his words.

December was upon them by then, bringing about a close to '02, and Paul had long been thinking about just what he wanted to spend his '03 doing. He hadn't worked it all out yet, it was still in the beta phase, he still had to talk to Vince about it and pick a ring and a date and just how he was going to do it, but…

And he wouldn't let anything fuck it up. Getting there. To that point. Even when he couldn't breathe, out there in the Elimination Chamber, he knew that he'd make it out okay. If he hadn't thought that, he honestly would have admitted it. Would have stopped the match.

The most important part of his life hadn't even begun yet. The wheels were in motion, he was psyching himself out about it already, but it hadn't truly started.

Soon though. And if Vince and Steph thought, even for a damn minute, that he'd let anything stop him from getting to that point, they were just flat out wrong.

That didn't mean that he wouldn't be getting back into that Chamber again, because he would. In a little less than a year, when Vince asked him to go in and, that time, successfully defend his title, he wouldn't even question it. No fear about it.

Just the determination to make it out without too serious of an injury.

He did, after all, by that time, have that little date right around the corner in October.

Because Steph looked at Paul like he looked at the company. An unwavering commitment. But to him, she was something entirely different.

She was the only damn thing that could get him to walk away from the company, to break that commitment.

Sitting there, that night, in that hospital, with Steph resting next to him, he'd thought about the same thing Vince warned him against later. About her. And having to watch him potentially choke to death, locked in a damn cell, for no reason other than they loved to entertain people.

IV stuck in his arm though, he felt...guilty. About a lot of things. It was a show of fortitude, fine, but it had also been foolish. To his health. Not to mention it ruined the match a bit. Him rolling around in pain in the corner at random times was distracting, no matter how great the camera work.

The match would always come first, when he was out there. He knew that about himself. He couldn't turn that off. But...maybe he'd put his health a bit higher up on the list. And remember that Steph was watching and that wasn't always a good thing (it was great, at times, actually, as she was very good at critiquing him in a way that didn't piss him the fuck off).

She was important too.

And even though he couldn't stand to tell her that then, his throat wouldn't allow it, he knew that he would in the most important way. Soon. Just a few more months to work up the courage and get it all decided and he'd do it.

He knew he would.

* * *

 **This was a request for that first Elimination Chamber match, done as its own separate story. I'd mentioned it before, I believe, in Timeline, but only in an aside kind of way because I really didn't think I could write too much on it.**

 **Then I did this.**

 **I'd actually watched the match recently, back in June, it was part of what got me back into wrestling again. My sister and I had found my Edge DVD and after watching ladder matches, she wanted to watch something else extreme, and we'd never seem Elimination Chamber matches, so we did that for a bit. It was kind of what got me back into wrestling.**

 **And I know that a huge chunk of this is basically just a play-by-play of the match (which I've never written out before, never had to), which I originally wasn't going to do. I was just going to get up to the point where RVD splashed Paul, but that was like fifteen minutes in and by then I was kind of into it and, well, here we are…**

 **Anyways, Steph claimed in that Axxes stream her and Paul did this past year for Mania that he spent the night in the hospital and then flew out to India the next day, which made little sense to me considering RAW would have been the night he was let out and Smackdown the next day, of course right by the location of the PPV, so there's no way most of the superstars would have been planning to be in India. I believe she just misspoke (or misremembered; it's been a decade) as checking their live events for back in 2002, they were in India the following Friday. Which still was too soon for him to be doing anything, really, and was against the doctor's suggestion, but here we are. And I couldn't find out if he really broke his wrist or not. He said in an interview I found that he didn't want to get it looked at that night, as they would make him stay at the hospital even longer and he just wanted to leave (damn dude), but after that I couldn't find anything, so I'll assume it was just a sprain and unimportant.**

 **Because it's easier that way.**

 **Requests/suggestions are always welcome. The ones you guys have sent so far have been fun.**


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